Harvey Dent / Two-Face (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dualistic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2012-10-03 01:30 pm
dualistic) wrote in damned_institute2012-10-03 01:30 pm
Night 66: Main Hallway, 1-West
[From here.]
That hadn't taken long. So much so that it looked like he was the first person to make it this far. Harvey took a moment to scan the hall with his flashlight, including near the stairs, but he didn't see (or hear) much of anything. It was the sort of thing that set him on edge.
Since he couldn't do much else, he leaned himself against the wall by the stairs and then grabbed for his gun, holding it near his side as he waited. Normally he didn't take the weapon out unless he planned to shoot it, but when there was a possibility that some transformed patient might come barreling down the halls in the next few seconds, he wanted to take precaution.
Hopefully Scott and Sangamon would haul ass over here before all hell started to break loose. If things got too hairy, Harvey was ready to make a run for it on his own. That was the logical thing to do.
[Waiting for S.T.]
That hadn't taken long. So much so that it looked like he was the first person to make it this far. Harvey took a moment to scan the hall with his flashlight, including near the stairs, but he didn't see (or hear) much of anything. It was the sort of thing that set him on edge.
Since he couldn't do much else, he leaned himself against the wall by the stairs and then grabbed for his gun, holding it near his side as he waited. Normally he didn't take the weapon out unless he planned to shoot it, but when there was a possibility that some transformed patient might come barreling down the halls in the next few seconds, he wanted to take precaution.
Hopefully Scott and Sangamon would haul ass over here before all hell started to break loose. If things got too hairy, Harvey was ready to make a run for it on his own. That was the logical thing to do.
[Waiting for S.T.]
no subject
It was a bad sign -- everyone knew that -- but Harvey didn't say anything about it. Instead, he kept glancing around for any sign of Scott, but nothing so far. "In case you forgot, it's your turn to give up a sense." Or his voice. The skeleton didn't exactly set it up in a way that made complete sense, but that was no surprise.
no subject
Amidst the rush of footsteps and the hushed tones of patients moving out for the evening, a faint, yet distinct sound of a wood striking tile echoed out of an adjacent hallway.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
Steady and slow, the sound repeated with the same rhythm, one clack after another, drawing louder with each successive sound. Footsteps. Ones unlike any that should have been sounding through the Institute's dark corridors. Their steady pace and growing volume spoke as if in warning to the hallway. And as slow as they were to arrive, so too was their owner in coming to a stop when he finally stepped into view of the main hallway, taking two more steps before finally halting.
There would have been no mistaking his form as it was, by some measure, human. However the absence of certain features detracted from that assumption. Black holes where eyes once had been stared darkly around the expanse of the hallway as the figure's head, dried and bandaged, turned slowly.
There was something he wanted.
A light broke the darkness just to the side of him. There. That was what he wanted. A dried out hand slowly drew up to grasp the hilt of a sword, and suddenly whatever patience the mummy had had was lost. The blade flew and so did the owner, his attack aiming at the one bearing the light.
no subject
"I'm guessing no one found a cure. You know if anyone's come down with it who didn't have it the first day? New people, old people, whatever?" It was whichever Landel had designed it to be, assuming he knew as much about genetics as he did about being a complete dick. Normally, S.T. would be whipping out his clear-lensed goggles and pretending to read the citations before ripping any claim like that to shreds, but he couldn't argue with evidence. Exhibit A, his nose. Or, to be precise, his olfactory nerve. And his liver, but he didn't think about that night unless he had to. Being strapped to a chair and tortured was a comparative picnic.
Then a sword flew out of the darkness. Oops. Too late. It was pointed straight at Harvey. By the time S.T. had figured that out, though, Harvey had either ducked or gone from two faces to two torsos. "What the fuck, man?" He was holding the pipe in both hands like a samurai sword, and squinting into the dark.
no subject
As for the question asked, that was easier to deal. Not that he knew for sure, but he hadn't noticed any spreading -- and if there had been some kind of contagion around, he definitely would have been susceptible, what with the open wound covering half his face. It really was a shock he hadn't been affected.
"Nah, I don't think it's spreading. We can basically consider ourselves off the hook."
But it was almost as if Landel's had to punish him for saying that, because in the next second the bright gleam of some sort of blade appeared out of nowhere and caught him in the arm, tearing open a gash. Harvey let out a strangled cry and then crouched to the ground, trying to move himself backward at the same time. He almost fell over in the process. "What the hell," he hissed.
no subject
He felt the hit vibrating through his blade as it caught a moment against a human arm. A man, and maybe more by the shouting voices. And blood, some of which he took with him after the man pulled back and the mummy's movement halted.
With his blade now drawn, his initial speed was lost, however his patience had seemed to return now that he'd struck. He was slow to recover from the attack and even slower to return his attention to the two, choosing to observe his dirtied sword instead. His empty sockets somehow stared as the blood dripped slowly from the tip before he swung it against the humans again - setting the blade far more purposefully time.
That was what he wanted.
no subject
"Zombie chew toy or superflu, pick one. Just do it quickly before Captain Trips here gets a lucky hit in." The guy was staring (if you could call it staring without eyeballs) at the blood on his sword like it was the gateway to Nirvana. Or dinner.
Or he was high as a kite and always looked like this. It was possible.
Aside from using broom handles to re-enact lightsaber fights, S.T. didn't know a damn thing about swordfighting, so instead he went with the assumption that the guy didn't have enough functioning brain cells to realize that S.T. was trying to hit him over the head with the pipe.
no subject
Sangamon had a point. With the face covered in bandages (and what hid under them looked like a skull, a sight that made his blood run cold), it was pretty clear that it was either a zombie or one of the transformed patients. Seeing how no one had really had much reason to be around Doyleton lately, the latter seemed more likely.
He hadn't expected to get caught up in this, especially when it didn't even involve them. Sangamon stepped forward to attack, but Harvey didn't know what they were waiting for. They had an easy way out of here. "Let's just put on the bracelets!" he yelled to Sangamon as he clutched his bleeding arm with the opposite hand. At this point, he didn't care if Scott was running late. It seemed idiotic to stay here and fight a losing battle when they had a getaway option burning holes in their pockets.
no subject
His head cracked with the force of the human's attack, the pipe caving in his skull down to an empty socket. The hit thrust his head off at an impossible angle, possibly snapping a decaying bone somewhere in his neck. By the sound, any number of things could have broken besides the obvious, though it made little difference. The mummy couldn't feel pain and likely wouldn't have cared if it had possessed the ability.
Yet he still managed to moan with the pipe lodged in it's skull. The kind of moan that, while clearly reflecting a lacking mental capacity, somehow managed to resonate with faint traces of annoyance or even anger of some sort. A zombie kind of moan.
With no blood shed a second time and the human so close, the mummy stabbed his sword out wildly, aiming low as he looked for a further hit. More blood, more tearing flesh. He would get it here.
no subject
His other hand went into his back pocket. His fingers hit the ring first. It was as good an option as any. He ran it up the zipper on his jeans like a match, and the garnet crumbled.
Just as the sword finally found something other than air. It was a technicality at best, but it counted. Three of them disappeared, leaving only a few splatters on the floor to show that anyone had been there.
[to here]